The Seven Deadly Sins: A Series of Lit Vignettes
by abc79-de
Summary: A series of looks at moments we were robbed of in Season Three. A look at Rory and Jess being Rory and Jess. Complete!
1. Sloth: The Unmitigated Joy Of Doing Noth

Story Title: The Seven Deadly Sins: A Series of Lit Vignettes

Chapter One—Sloth: The Unmitigated Joy Of Doing Nothing

Rating: T, for some possible language

Summary: A series of looks at moments we were robbed of in Season Three. A look at Rory and Jess being Rory and Jess.

Jess knocked on the door, after waiting for a full ten minutes in the car with the engine off and radio going. He assumed that she was just doing her girl thing of primping to make sure every hair was in place and changing her mind about her shoes three different times. He never understood why any of it mattered. Not only did she look good in anything, but if he had his way at the end of the evening her shoes would be off and her hair would most definitely be mussed. But that was beside the point. They had a system, which worked pretty well. He would tell her what time he'd be over, park in front of her house, and she'd come out so he wouldn't have to play the guessing game he liked to call 'Is Lorelai home?' every Saturday night.

Apparently tonight the system was experiencing technical difficulties. He got no response to his light knocking, so he pushed the doorbell, hoping that someone would answer soon. He could see the drapes moving at the Dell's house, and he didn't need a run-in with the woman in town known for her collection of lawn gnomes and cats.

"Rory?" he called to the closed front door. If he still got no answer, he was out of here.

"Door's unlocked! Come in!" he heard, muffled through the door, but his heartbeat was increasing as her next door neighbor's front door began to open. He tried the knob on the Gilmore home and said a silent 'thank you' to whatever allowed it to be unlocked. He slipped in the front door, closing it completely behind him just in case and entering the house--unable to care anymore if Lorelai was home or not.

He looked left and right, but saw no sign of life. Had he imagined her voice? "Rory?" he called out, slightly annoyed about the near run-in with a person whose last conversation with him had included her going into vivid detail about her last mammogram while she ate a hamburger. He involuntarily shuddered at the memory and took another step in the foyer.

"In here," she called weakly from the vicinity of the front room. He stepped into the living room to see her lying on the couch, the television on but almost no sound coming out of it. He frowned as he looked down over the arm of the couch as she continued to stare at the glowing television.

"Did we get our signals crossed?"

Now at least her head half turned so she was awkwardly looking up at his face. "What?"

"I thought we had plans for tonight."

She blinked. "We do."

"The plans I had in mind involved leaving the house."

She turned her head and sighed. "Oh. Uh-huh."

He sighed and walked around the couch. He scooped her saddle shoe-covered feet up and sat down, keeping her feet under his hands and nestled in his lap. She hadn't bothered to change out of her Chilton uniform after school, though the top three buttons were undone on her button-up shirt and she was missing the tie. He slid his hand up one leg as far as the knee sock covered and then came back to her ankle. "Whatcha' watching?"

"Dunno. I can't hear it."

"So, turn it up."

She shrugged. "Can't find the remote."

"Want me to look for it?" he offered.

She shook her head. "Nah. I like it better this way, I can make up what they're saying in my head."

He frowned as he looked at the screen. She had it on an improve comedy show, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out what the skit was about. "You okay?"

She leaned her head up just enough to prop it against the arm of the couch. "Huh?"

He shrugged. "You're laying here, barely coherent. Was Paris in one of her bug up her ass, my GPA is better than yours is days?"

"No. I'm just… hanging."

He believed her—he had to admit she didn't look or sound upset. Just relaxed. Like his mom did after a valium or three. Like a ragdoll in a coma. "So, you just want to hang?" he reiterated.

For a girl who rambled on about needing to make specific plans and being spoiled by those that wanted to call her their girlfriend, she was acting odd. He didn't think he was all that bad at it. Sometimes things came up, but he liked spending time with her. Especially when it was just the two of them, like this very instant. At least, he assumed they were alone.

"Where's Lorelai?"

"Date."

"New guy?"

"Yup."

He didn't know what she thought of Alex, or if she even thought anything of him. She never talked about any of the men her mother dated, which he didn't find all that odd. He sure as shit didn't think or talk about any of the idiots that his mother dated. He knew better than to get attached to any of them as a permanent fixture in his life, and he knew Rory was smart enough to have obtained a similar outlook.

"Huh."

The one thing he did like about this guy was the fact he seemed to like weekend trips. And he must have been at least a decent lay, because Lorelai was always game for taking off for the weekend to go with him, leaving her daughter to fend for herself. He slid his hand up her leg again, this time resting his open palm on her knee.

"So, you wanna hang here?" he asked, a knowing smirk on his face.

"I'm just too comfortable to move," she admitted.

He wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. They had a house to themselves, his hand was on her knee, and if she shifted at all, he was almost positive he'd be able to see up her skirt—able to catch a glimpse of what pair of panties she was wearing. If this was a true fantasy, she would have skipped the panties, but she was a practical girl, and practical girls wore panties under wool skirts, he was sure.

"So, just you and me, all night?" he squeezed his hand over her knee, looking for a reaction.

"Mmm-hmm," she murmured disinterestedly. "Oh, and maybe a pizza?"

"Is that a question?"

"Could you call? It's speed dial one," she gesticulated behind her. "The phone's on the little table in the hall."

He let out a sigh. He picked up her legs, creating his own opportunity in hopes of seeing black lace. He caught a quick glimpse of pink cotton and replaced her ankles on the couch cushion his ass had been occupying. "One with everything?" he asked.

"I'll pretend that's a hypothetical question."

"Right," he sighed, moving to the phone. Once the line had been picked up, he was placed on hold. "How am I on hold? For one, they see this number on caller ID and they know to pop two pizzas and a cheesy bread in the oven."

"Oooh, cheesy bread," she muttered, then gave a big yawn.

He rolled his eyes and gave the order for the pizza and cheesy bread as soon as Joe took him off hold. Joe apologized for the wait, and then asked if he liked the hold music. After a short, yet particularly draining, conversation as to why playing Kenny G was not a good idea, Jess hung up and walked back to the couch. Deciding a different tact was in order, he crouched down in front of her head. Her eyes refocused on his, and she smiled. He gave her a half smile, his lips already intent on meeting hers softly. His forehead nudged hers, and he ran a hand through her hair as he brushed his bottom lip over hers. Testing the waters, as it were. When she didn't pull away, he sucked her lip between his and opened her lips with his tongue. She sighed contently but didn't give an aggressive show.

"Rory, come on," he urged.

She shook her head at him as he pulled back in frustration. "Jess."

"I'm not trying to push," he sighed.

She flopped her head back against its cushion. "I know. And I like that, it's just," she sighed. "I've had a really long week. Tests, presentations, Paris, Mom, Friday night dinner," she listed off the many things that kept her away from him throughout the week. "Tonight is the one night I get to do whatever I want. And I want to do nothing."

He frowned. "Why didn't you just say so?"

He was even more put out now than he had been with his near conversation with Babette. It was too late to pick up a shift at work, and no way was he closing the diner tonight. Saturday night was Kirk's night out, and he stayed until the last possible minute, enjoying each precious second of freedom outside of his mother's house and annoying all in his presence.

She put her hand on his arm. "I want to do nothing, with you."

Now he was confused. He knew being committed to another person lent itself to doing things he didn't want to do and for reasons he didn't always understand, but this girl he was doing his damnedest to be committed to wasn't one to make it easy on him. "What?"

"Haven't you ever just done nothing?"

He thought for a moment. If nothing else, there was always a good book to be reread. He assumed she was the same way. She carried four for fun around with her wherever she went. When did she have time to do nothing? "Nope."

She pointed to the end of the couch. "Lie down."

This was one of those trust things. He should just go with it, for her, to make her happy. But he didn't exactly work that way. "There isn't room."

She rolled her eyes. "Just, do it? Please?"

She was batting her damn eyelashes. What's worse was, it was totally working. She was working him like a comic at a club with a two drink minimum. He glared at her, but he removed his shoes, then hers, and went to the other end of the couch. He sat down, then slid his jean-covered legs down toward her butt. She intertwined her legs with his, his knees tucked between hers. He looked down at her, then to the television, which he had to admit, he had a better view of from this angle. Leave it to the Gilmore girls to acquire the perfect position of the TV to be seen from a horizontal position.

He heard another contented sigh.

"So, what do we do when the pizza comes?"

"I have that covered," she assured him.

"Okay," he said, not wanting to know exactly what that entailed. "So, what do we do now?"

"Nothing. Isn't it wonderful?"

He had to admit, lying all tangled up with her, even fully dressed, didn't suck. In fact, it was kind of relaxing. The silent TV was oddly hypnotizing.

"I read that book you gave me," he said, his level of interest not even registering in his tone.

"Yeah?"

"It wasn't bad."

"Told you. His first book was better. It was way more bitter and cynical. It reminded me of you."

"Gee, thanks."

"But the library lost their copy."

"You don't own it?"

"I can't afford to buy every book I want to read," she repositioned her head slightly to look down the line of their bodies to meet his eyes.

"Right," he agreed, understanding the notion as he'd grown up in a single parent household with no money to spare the same as she had. Half the time rent money had gone to his mother's pot habit. But unlike Rory, he'd taken on many jobs at a much younger age. No one understood why he felt compelled to hold down two jobs since they'd started going out, but he knew that tomorrow night she'd find her very own copy of that author's first embittered novel on her pillow.

They lapsed in and out of conversation over the course of the next few hours. He marveled at the ease at which she called out for Joe to come on in and help himself to the money on the table. But he sure as hell didn't mind when Joe plopped the pizza and cheesy bread down within reach on the coffee table. Before he knew it, there were only a few scraps of overdone crust laying in the open pizza box, and the front door was opening with no prompt from inside. He was so close to sleep, his muscles so lax he wasn't sure they'd support his weight if he tried to stand up. Lorelai stood over the back of the couch moments later, looking down at what had been going on in her house. He tried to brace himself for the coming lecture, sour looks, or declaration that it was time to call it a night. He had no earthly idea what time it was.

"I'm going up to bed. Lock up before you go?"

He looked from mother to daughter and watched in amazement as the younger, his girlfriend, nodded unenthusiastically. "Yeah, sure. Night, Mom."

"Night. Jess," she gave him a brief nod, which he returned and tried to process the mutual acceptance as she disappeared up the stairs. If Rory found it odd, she didn't say so, and he let the disruption of their doing nothing together time fade into the background, like the TV with the sound that had never been turned up.


	2. Greed: The Pursuit of Money in the Face

Story Title: The Seven Deadly Sins: A Series of Lit Vignettes

Chapter Two—Greed: The Pursuit of Money in the Face of Happiness

Rating: T, for some possible language

Summary: A series of looks at moments we were robbed of in Season Three. A look at Rory and Jess being Rory and Jess.

AN: Thanks for the lovely reviews, and the generous response. It's nice to see so many Lits still lurking out there.

Rory sat at the counter, with her feet not quite touching the floor, her Calculus book open, and a notebook that had been erased within an inch of its life. Normally she didn't make this many mistakes, but she couldn't concentrate tonight. She'd had dinner at Luke's Diner, which was a growing normality in her life. She and her mother had always made a habit of eating at that specific establishment, but since she started dating the owner's nephew, it seemed to be more of a home away from home. She ate there even when her mother didn't join her, as was the case tonight, and she had her own stool.

At least, Jess always slid a cup of coffee in front of the same stool whenever he saw her coming in. It was right on the end, where he could easily walk around and touch her. It was the best invitation, like he was encouraging her to stay and keep him company. Tonight, however, he hadn't touched her. He'd barely looked at her. So she sat, with only her differential equations to keep her company as she bounced her eraser off the counter, hoping more for some attention than for a correct answer.

"Need a refill?" the voice of her boyfriend caused her head to snap up. She smiled at him.

"Yes, please," she reached out and put her hand on his wrist after he poured. "When's your break?"

He shifted, uncomfortably, his eyes not looking at anything but the quickly filling cup. "I have a lot of tables to turn over."

"You should still get breaks," she urged.

"I took one," he shrugged.

"When?" she demanded.

"Before you got here. Besides, you're doing your homework."

She frowned. "When do you get off, then?"

He checked his watch. "Half hour."

Instantly her face brightened. "I'm almost done here, and my English paper isn't due 'til next Tuesday. You wanna take a walk when you're done?"

Another shift of weight. He was uncomfortable, but he was forging ahead anyhow. "Can't. I have work."

She sighed. "Again?"

"They only pay me when I show up. It's kind of how it works."

"I know how a job works, Jess. Geez, is Luke charging you rent?"

"No," he turned briefly to put the coffee pot under the drip and grab the decaf pot.

"So, call in sick," she tempted.

"Rory," he turned and leaned on the counter with his elbows. "We're on for Saturday, right?"

She looked down, shrugging her shoulders slightly. "Yeah."

"So, what's the problem?"

She looked up into his chocolaty brown eyes. He really saw nothing wrong with their system. "I hate seeing you once a week."

"I see you every day," he pointed out.

"Been peeping through my windows again?" she cocked an eyebrow, teasing him.

"I had a peep hole installed in your shower," he corrected, his face almost brightening with a smile.

"How old school."

"I'm seeing you right now," he stressed, as he was growing weary of this particular conversation.

"This isn't a date," she chastised. "This is me eating dinner and you working. Watching you work isn't a date."

He leaned in. "I didn't realize you were watching me. Want me to put a little strut in my step?"

She glared, but the smile on her face was insuppressible. "Jess," she sighed.

"I get off at midnight," he said, his tone low enough for only her to hear.

"So?" she pretended not to know why he was telling her this.

"So, maybe you should go home and take a nap," he leaned forward to kiss her forehead, a brief thing that involved his lips brushing over her skin instead of pressing in.

"That was a one-time deal," she pulled back and bit her lip. She still couldn't believe they hadn't been caught by either her mother or neighbors as he climbed in her window after his shift at Wal-Mart last week.

"Why? It's not like I'll be too tired."

"Because money gives you energy?" she pouted.

"You give me energy," he wiggled his eyebrow at her.

"I can't," she protested, though weakly.

"Why not?"

"Because I want to see you during normal waking hours. I'm not dating a vampire," she pointed out.

Now a smirk came over his lips. "You sure about that? I do like to suck on your neck at night," he teased her.

"Jess!" she used her harshest whisper and looked around. No one had heard him, save for her. "I can't believe you!"

"Calm down," he shook his head at her reaction. "Your reputation is in tact, along with your maidenhood."

"Can we please not discuss my maidenhood?" she shifted on her stool, mostly just afraid of having that particular conversation with him. They never talked about whether or not they'd have sex. He assumed she wasn't ready, and she was sort of relieved. She thought about it more and more these days, and she was afraid she'd say yes. More reason to avoid it at all costs, if you asked her.

"Look, if you want to see me, it's going to have to be late."

She pouted. "You're working more and more."

"Yeah, well, I can't ride this gravy train forever. I'm gonna have to move out, pay rent, buy food. Especially if you come to visit, I get the feeling you'd eat me out of house and home."

She stuck her tongue out at him, but considered what he was saying. "So, this is your big plan for what happens after high school?" 

He checked on the coffee pot and wiped down the counter around her mess of books and cleared her pie plate. "I didn't say that."

"So, what is your plan?"

He sighed. "Rory, come on."

"What is your plan? To make money?"

"You've seen _Wall Street_. Greed is good. Besides, not all of us are going to Harvard."

"Just because you're not going to Harvard doesn't mean you can't go to school."

"School also takes money."

"True. How much do you have saved?"

He looked at her and shook his head. "You want a ride home on my way to work?"

"Jess, come on. I bet you have enough saved for at least the first semester of a community college. And if you do well enough there, you could get a scholarship to a better school," she encouraged.

"I really don't want to discuss it."

"Fine," she huffed, looking back down at her books.

He let out a breath and took the pot of coffee off the machine before coming around and standing behind her. His arm snaked over her shoulder, and coffee poured out into her cup. His lips lowered to her ear, and his breath tickled the short hairs on her neck. "What about that ride?"

She turned on her stool to look him in the eyes. Now they were so close that normally they'd ease into a kiss. At least, if they were alone and not in the middle of a packed diner. Many pairs of eyes were watching them, or at least, she operated under that notion unless they were behind closed doors. Every time she kissed a boy in public, her mother heard about it. And every conversation about Jess they had lately had prompted some kind of warning about being safe on Lorelai's part and a lot of eye rolling on hers.

"I should get going now," she looked down, from his eyes to his lips, almost able to feel them on her neck, as he'd alluded to earlier.

"Oh," he started to step back, realizing that his workaholic nature really might be taking its toll on his their already rocky at times relationship. Not that it would stop him from going into work tonight, or any other night of the week for that matter.

"If I'm going to have to get up at midnight, I should take a nap now."

She said it without trying to stop him, without looking at him. He stopped, however, just hovering at her shoulder. She felt heat generate in him, and she hoped the desire to skip work altogether. He paused, and she knew his eyes were on her. He was experiencing disbelief, a rare moment for him. She reveled in providing him with these moments, the briefest of pauses, where he ceased to function while his brain caught up with this new reality she provided him.

She knew he wasn't going to argue with her, to ask if she was sure or run the risk of her changing her mind. He was smarter than that, and his desire for such things was greater than to allow him to question it and talk his way out of what he wanted.

"It'll be more like twelve-thirty."

She smiled and shut her book. "Okay."

"If this is you trying to get me to stop peeping through your window," he teased.

"It's your choice," she stood up and faced him. "You can look at me through the glass, or you can come in for a better view."

"Giving me options?"

"You always have a choice," she slid her books into their bag and put her arms through the loops. "See ya later."

He reached out for her arm, pulled her back, and kissed her. It wasn't a 'nice to see you' or a 'see you later' kind of kiss. It was a kiss that promised that he would be by later, no matter how tired he was, and there would be much more where that came from. Her lips were tingling, along with other parts of her body, and her blue eyes were shining when he pulled back. He left no chance of her finishing her homework or taking a nap—only sitting uncomfortably in wait, trying to find something to take her mind off of that kiss and the fact that he'd be back for more.

"Later."


	3. Wrath: Angry Works for Her

Story Title: The Seven Deadly Sins: A Series of Lit Vignettes

Chapter Three—Wrath: Angry Works for Her

Rating: T, for some possible language

Summary: A series of looks at moments we were robbed of in Season Three. A look at Rory and Jess being Rory and Jess.

She didn't come out at first. In fact, he saw the face of every last outraged, if not a bit confused, townsperson before she emerged. No one had directly spoken to him, not even his uncle, who had given him a look like he wanted to push him off a bridge (oh, how he knew that look.) No, no one overtly blamed him for what had transpired during the course of the last hour; though he was sure they had their suspicions of his guilt.

Rory was a different story all together. She knew he had been responsible for every last mishap that had taken place at the bi-monthly town meeting. She probably envisioned him setting up the whole prank as it unfolded, and while disgust played on her face, she couldn't control the laughter that pulled at her lips and originated deep down in her stomach. And while she might have defended him to those who blamed him in their witch-hunt style, her mother included, she wouldn't be playing dumb with him.

"Hey," Jess smiled at her, true amusement playing across his features. He was leaning against a lamp post, the light falling down over his body.

She shook her head and tightened her arms across her chest. She took a deep breath and then proceeded to walk past him, away from the diner. This was fine by him, but he thought he warranted at least a greeting or acknowledgement of some kind. He was quick to pick up her pace.

"Ro-ry," he sing-songed her name, hoping for her to slow a little.

Nothing. She was almost to the town square. Clearly she wasn't quite as amused as he'd anticipated. Maybe they'd given Luke the run around about shipping his smart ass back to New York, again. That would upset her on several levels, the first and least of which would be any duress this caused Luke. No girl wants their boyfriend banned from the state. Though at the moment, it would have been nice for her to give him a sign that she'd be upset at the notion, because she clearly didn't want to see him now.

"Hey, I'm talking to you," he reached out to slip his fingers around her right elbow.

She stopped in place, so fast that he feared getting whiplash from the sudden braking. She turned on him like a provoked animal. "Yeah? Well, I'm not talking to you!"

"Why not?"

She looked at him like he was the most ignorant man she'd ever encountered. "You're kidding me, right?"

He shrugged. "You were talking to me this morning, when I gave you coffee and Danish. Since I haven't seen you since then, shouldn't I assume you're still talking to me?"

"You are not dumb, Jess," she glared at him. "I know you're not dumb, and yet, you do truly asinine things. The only thing I can't figure out is why."

He cocked his head, waiting for her to continue in her angry rant.

"I mean, I understand why you used to do it, when you first got here, before …," she paused for a moment, then shook her head and continued, "but now? I mean, why do you continue to do these things?"

He licked his bottom lip. "Before what?"

She looked down at the pavement. "I don't know, before things got comfortable here for you."

He cocked an eyebrow. "You think I'm comfortable here?"

She ignored his question. "I mean, clearly you're just trying to get attention."

"What did I do that was so bad?"

Her mouth gaped. "Taylor's fingers are superglued together!"

He couldn't help it. He had to smile. "Huh."

She narrowed her gaze. "Kirk now has to shave his eyebrows."

Nope. That smirk wasn't going anywhere. "You don't say."

"And Gypsy nearly strangled Andrew, whom she swore was behind putting the whoopee cushion on her seat."

"What did she try to strangle him with?" he inquired, his eyes sparkling.

"The whoopee cushion," she admitted, her lips curling up. "They're much stretchier than I thought they were."

They shared the smile until she regained her indignance. "That's not the worst part."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Taylor called Dean up to help put up some charts, and he couldn't get up from his seat."

"Huh," he did his best to feign concern. "Why not?"

"Why do you hate him so much? What did he ever do to you?"

"It must be a family trait. Luke really loves to piss him off. Think of it as a family feud situation."

"Not Taylor. Dean. Luke doesn't hate Dean."

"Luke doesn't really like Dean," Jess informed her. "It could probably grow to a Taylor-like hate, if nurtured enough."

"Did something happen between the two of you?"

Jess balked. "No."

"So, you just hate him for no reason at all? Do you just look at someone and decide you either like them or don't? What happened to giving people chances?"

"That's sewn on your sampler, not mine."

"You're impossible. I know this, and yet I try anyhow. I must be crazy."

"Why are you upset? Nothing happened to you, did it?"

"What if it had? What if I'd sat in the seat Dean was supposed to be in and my pants were glued to a folding chair?"

Jess couldn't help himself. He let out the first part of a snicker before swallowing it back in, and she glared at him in disgust before stamping her feet as she marched back along the sidewalk toward her house.

"Rory, wait," he sighed as he caught up with her again. She didn't run, but she could move fast when she was angry. "Do you really want me to admit I am responsible for all of those things?"

She crossed her arms. "I don't care what you do."

He knew she didn't mean that. Even when she hated his actions, she gave him another chance. It was who she was, but he liked to think he would never run out of chances—or her good graces. Sometimes when she was mad like this, he felt something like fear run through him, though only briefly, at the thought that someday he might push her too far.

"Would it make you feel better if I promised not to do it again?" he looked at her with his sweetest expression, though he knew it made him look unnatural and more than a little ridiculous. He wasn't sweet, and she knew that.

"Would you?" she tested him.

He bristled. Had it come to this? Was he really ready to make promises that he would have to force himself to keep for her? Not that he'd die if he never pulled another prank, but honestly the people in this town made it too easy, and he got such pride in a job well done. Frankly, it would be a waste of his talents to agree to such a thing.

"I don't want you to make me promises like that, Jess."

He looked up, relieved that he hadn't had to give her an answer. "You don't?"

She kicked at a piece of gravel and shrugged. "You shouldn't do things you don't want to do, just because it's something I want. I would never ask you to do anything you don't want to do."

He appreciated her sentiments for about five seconds, until he got the feeling there was something she wanted him to do. Something she was beating around the bush about—something he really wouldn't want to do. He racked his brain to think of what it might be.

"Rory," he began. "What exactly is it you want me to do?"

"Nothing," she began. "At least, nothing you don't really, really want to do."

"For instance?"

"Well, just as an example—a completely theoretical one—I was talking to Lane the other day. And it seems that Dave mentioned wanting to take her to the Stars Hollow Prom."

"Mrs. Kim would allow that?"

"That's beside the point. Lane was really touched that he would even bring it up, even knowing that in order to even take her to the prom, he'd have to go through tons of hoops and possibly loads of deception to make it happen."

"Uh-huh," he narrowed his eyes.

"And so Lane and I were talking about how when we were freshman we planned to go to the Senior Prom together. We had it all planned out—we'd get a limo, we'd eat before we got there at some fancy restaurant we'd never go to normally, and we'd dance together when our dates just couldn't stand to dance to one more crappy boy band song."

Boy bands. Bad food. Paying for a hotel room she would no doubt give him shit for getting in the first place. Sex on prom night was too cliché for her. His stomach lurched. She was circling the airstrip. He would wait until she touched down.

"And I was telling her how even though I've spent most of my high school years at Chilton, no way would I want to go to their prom. It'll be really stuffy and the girls will be competing over who has the dress by the most famous designer, whereas my mom will probably make mine, and you HAVE to be a student at Chilton to go to that prom, whereas Stars Hollow lets pretty much anyone in, as long as their date is a senior," she hedged.

"You want to go to the Stars Hollow High Prom?" he cringed.

"Well, personally, I do, yes. But I'd need a current senior to bring me as their date. And Lane can't do it if she does manage to figure out a way to bring Dave."

"Huh."

"I mean, if I could find someone that was actually going to prom already that wasn't bringing someone else it would be great."

He nodded, not wanting to commit so readily. He couldn't say the thought of asking her hadn't crossed his mind. It was the kind of thing she'd love. And seeing her all dressed up and cutting out early held a certain appeal. Even if all they'd do in the hotel room he reserved was order room service and watch a bad movie in fancy clothes.

"It's not the kind of thing you'd enjoy at all."

"Nope," he agreed.

"So, I'm just pointing out that that's just an example of something I want, but I'd never ask you to do."

He sighed and looked at his girlfriend, who was all but begging him to ask her to the prom. Normally he'd say no, like he had to almost every other town function she'd asked him to participate in with her since they began dating. In fact, he was shocked when heard himself speak.

"Do you want to go to the prom with me?"

Her eyes lit up. "Are you serious?"

"Rory," he warned.

"Sorry. Yes!" she launched her arms around his neck, hugging him so tightly that he feared not being able to breathe unless she let go. She pulled back suddenly, a worried expression crossing her beautiful features. "You know this means you have to wear a tux."

"Well, in that case," he began.

"Too late, you already asked!" she responded gleefully. She kissed him gratefully, and he pulled her in closer to show her he had no hard feelings for being manipulated. He felt her respond until she realized they were standing in the middle of the street. If they continued on like this, a concerned citizen would call her mother, who would have no qualms about coming to interrupt them. He might be in Rory's good graces, but Lorelai always looked at him like she'd be happier if his head were being served to her on a platter. Rory pulled back and looked into his eyes. "Jess," she sucked in a breath, her voice letting him know she felt the shift as well.

"You have to go?" he asked knowingly.

She nodded. "But we're on for tomorrow night?"

He nodded. They made plans now. He looked forward to their plans now. More importantly, he always showed up. "Eight o'clock, after you get back from Hartford."

She nodded. "Are you sure you want to go to prom?" she asked, unable to stop herself.

He kissed her again and leaned into her ear. "I'm sure I want to take you to prom."

She smiled at him brightly, her anger forgotten. She nodded before tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and turning to go back home, leaving him to go back to the diner and work the slow part of the closing shift, where he'd have plenty of free time to plan his next elaborate prank.


	4. Lust: Intoxicating in Theory and in Prac

Story Title: The Seven Deadly Sins: A Series of Lit Vignettes

Chapter Four--Lust: Intoxicating in Theory and in Practice

Rating: T, for some possible language

Summary: A series of looks at moments we were robbed of in Season Three. A look at Rory and Jess being Rory and Jess.

She was mesmerized by the lines of his body. He was a series of slight geometric anomalies under her close scrutiny, but when observed all at once he made her knees literally weak. She never thought that she would fall into the pinning of such a blatant stereotype, but just the nearness of him was enough to prove that she wasn't above falling prey to such girly notions. Swooning and pining were surely right around the corner.

It all started with the slope of his jaw, but it didn't end there. If it had ended there, she wouldn't wake up blushing or have trouble meeting his eyes in public. And perhaps her mother would stop with the now weekly Sunday safe-sex lectures. Her life would certainly be easier, that was for sure. But when she was close enough to enjoy him, weak knees and all, she wasn't sure easier was what she was after.

His jaw was always slightly rough, even if he'd just shaved before picking her up. He had a strong jaw, with muscles well toned from their now epic-length make-out sessions. Her own jaw would often hurt the next day after seeing him; yet another reminder along with raw lips and finding her undershirt on inside out when she woke up the next morning.

His hair was always a little too long, and a bit uneven. She wondered where he got his hair cut, but she never asked him. She didn't know personal things like that about him. She didn't know his first grade teacher's name or the street he grew up on, but she knew other things. She knew that his smile was crooked and his shoulders shook when he laughed really hard. She also knew that his smile faded right before he kissed her, as if it were a solemn act.

He had other lines. Ones that had an effect on much more than her knees. Ones that were only visible after they'd gotten past the first initial kisses and their hands got ahead of them. She liked to run her finger down the midline of his body, separating the muscle groups that were so well showcased on his compact frame. She traced it from his neck to his navel, circling there and, if she was feeling brave, just below. But this southern-pointing line wasn't created by muscle definition, but a thin trail of hair that disappeared down into his boxer shorts. Like a road map for a trip she knew she wanted to take, but she wasn't sure she could find her way back. She always turned back before she reached her final destination.

And yet, she continued to explore the same paths.

She wasn't alone in her travels, as his hands were often busier than her own. He seemed to like contours better—relishing in softer flesh than hardened muscle. His hands lingered over her hips, her butt, her breasts—learning her body as she was learning his. With the regularity that he sought out her body, she assumed he was finding just as much pleasure as she was.

"Jess," she swallowed as his hand dipped down her stomach, under the button of her jeans. She knew they'd be undone in a matter of moments. It wasn't that she minded the act, but it was the timing that startled her. She still had remnants of lip gloss on, and they'd only heard Luke's truck fire up and take off for his date a mere ten minutes before. She thought they were still acting under the guise of putting a movie on and watching it.

"Mmm?" he asked, not able to be bothered with forming real words as his lips skimmed over her stomach, using his teeth to tug at the skin over her hip bone.

She completely lost her train of thought as her hands went into the tangle of hair on his head and prayed he'd repeat that action. He was never rough with her, though he lost much ability for gentleness when they went any number of days without seeing one another like they had this week. She'd had midterms, and he'd been working. This was her first indication that he'd missed her.

"Is Luke coming home early?"

"Nope," he used only two fingers to unbutton her jeans. He gave a gentle tug to bring them a couple of inches lower on her hips, but left her modestly covered. Just because he couldn't see what he was doing didn't mean his fingers weren't capable of exploring on their own.

When she last saw him, she'd told him to keep thinking what he was thinking, and clearly he had followed her instructions. He was making her dizzy, though she was lying down. His thumb stroked a cluster of nerves that seemed to be hooked up to control her entire system.

"Oh," was all she could manage in response as he continued to touch her softly, but established a rhythm that her hips seemed to want to follow. She was having one of those moments that pushed the line between what they'd done before and what she would only realize she was ready for after they'd done it. There had been several of these moments in their relationship, and she had yet to regret anything. "Jess?"

His hand didn't stop moving, but he pressed his cheek into her stomach so he could look up into her eyes. Somehow the combination made her mouth go dry. She blinked, hoping to find her previously important question.

"Uh, oh," she squeaked as his finger dipped further down, gaining moisture before coming back up to glide over her again.

"You okay?"

"Mmm," was all she could answer as her eyes closed.

"Rory."

She kept her eyes shut, enjoying the feeling of his hands still. "Yeah?"

"Rory."

His voice was more insistent, and it made her open her eyes. Apparently that was all he'd wanted, as he didn't say anything further. He kissed her stomach, his tongue dipping down into the shallow depth of her belly button. Her hands were now completely entangled in his hair, her hands balling into fists and pulling his thick locks. She'd forgotten all about his lines as he unzipped her pants all the way, exposing the white bikini briefs that were littered with yellow daisies that she'd pulled on this morning without a thought that they'd have a wider audience.

This made him smile, and she couldn't help but blush. Which made his smile wider. "Cute."

"Shut up," she chastised.

"Okay," he said, again reverent, his smile fading as he snagged his fingers in the elastic of her undergarment. He barely moved it a fraction of an inch before her fingers found their way out of his hair and over his hands, stopping him.

He let out a soft sigh, barely audible, and moved back up to her eye level. He put his hands on her cheeks and kissed her. She felt like he was soothing her, reassuring her that he wouldn't go any further. It was an odd dichotomy, as he was preparing to slow his body down, hers was still feeling the draw for more. It surprised her, and she knew after her ingrained attempt to slow him down he wouldn't believe her words. If she wanted him to keep going, she'd have to show him. She kissed him back harder, and like a pro he immediately responded. His hands remained on her neck, however, and she knew that kissing wouldn't quite be enough to convince him, either.

She traced his abdominal muscles, each rectangle, coming back to the midline each time before moving down further. By the time her hands were at the natural roundabout of his belly button, her lips were skimming down his neck. She could feel his muscles tensing all over his body, especially cords of sinewy muscle hardening on each side of his neck as she continued to run her lips and tongue over his skin. Now it was her turn, the first time she had reached to unbutton his fly. He grew very still, as if any sudden movement might derail her. She gave him the same treatment he'd given her, sliding his pants down just far enough to see the lines that started at his hips and sloped into a V—leading to the same place she was sure the trail of hair leading from his navel ended up. All roads leading her down. She caught his eye as her own hand slipped down under the fabric, seeking out something new. Something she'd only felt in reaction against her hip or her thigh. She reached out and let her hand naturally wrap around, when he sucked in a deep breath through his teeth.

"Is this okay?" her eyes widened, suddenly worried she might be hurting him.

He nodded, and she tightened her grip and ran her hand down and back up, feeling him change in her hand as she moved against him. She watched his eyes, how his pupils dilated and his eyelids seemed to grow heavy. She bit her lip and grew less timid, testing out pressures and speeds. She remembered the trance-like state he'd conjured up in her with the rhythm he'd used, and she employed the same tactics until his hand reached out suddenly and stilled her hand.

"Jess?"

"We should stop," he managed.

"Oh," she said, rather disappointed. She had been feeling powerful, and while her own lust had been building, it was intoxicating to cause his to grow.

"If we don't now, I might not be able to soon," he looked her in the eye.

She knew they were always skirting this conversation, and it'd been more than fine with her to put it off as long as possible. "Do you," she bit her lip again, in disbelief that she was even bringing it up.

"Do I want to?" he understood as he supplied the words. "Rory, I'm a guy."

Her brow wrinkled. "So?"

"So, of course I want to."

She shook her head. "No, I mean, specifically. With me."

In her mind it truly made a difference. She didn't believe she was feeling all of these things because she just really wanted to have sex. She truly believed that she was feeling all these encompassing emotions and intense reactions because she was with him. She very well might have made it through high school without giving sex a second thought if not for him.

His hand came over her cheek, running down it quickly and cupping her chin. He lifted her head slightly and stared into her eyes, causing a chill to go down her spine.

"Yes, I specifically want to have sex with you."

She shifted her eyes, but couldn't help but smile.

"Are you making fun of me?" he inquired softly, in what she would call his bedroom voice. Whether or not it was, it was a tone he saved specifically for her.

"No! I'm just… happy, that's all."

"You're happy?" he inquired, still not quite buying that she wasn't mocking him.

She nodded, peaking his interest. She liked the feeling of the upper hand and waited for him to continue to want more from her.

"Meaning?"

She gave him a half-shrug—a taste of his own medicine.

"Rory, I have self-restraint, but after what just happened, you telling me that you're happy," he led.

"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it," she admitted.

"So, we're thinking about it?"

"I'd say it's fair to say that."

"Huh," he scratched the top of his head and nodded, his lips turning up in an almost smile. He stayed in his thoughts for what seemed like a long time, and she poked him in an accusing manner.

"You're thinking about it now!"

He looked at her, his mouth gaping a bit before answering her. "You just said we were thinking about it!"

"I meant in general, not right now!"

He rolled his eyes. "When am I allowed to think about it?"

She shrugged. "Later. After I'm gone."

He smiled. "Is that when you'll be thinking about it?"

Her blush was going to be eternal. "I hate you."

"So, it's going to be angry sex we're imagining?" he teased her.

"Ohmygod! Shut up!"

It was too late. He was enjoying making her crazy now. There was only one way for her to both retaliate and shut him up. She pushed him back down against his bed, with the sheets in total disarray from the way he'd left it before his shift at the diner that morning, and covered his mouth with hers. She was able to shut him up, but no doubt she was giving him a better visual for his later thoughts.

Luckily, it would be fuel for her thoughts as well.


	5. Sloth: Part Deux

Story Title: The Seven Deadly Sins: A Series of Lit Vignettes

Chapter Five—Sloth: Part Deux

Rating: T, for some possible language

Summary: A series of looks at moments we were robbed of in Season Three. A look at Rory and Jess being Rory and Jess.

"Pizza?" Jess suggested after she'd stopped responding to the feel of his lips against her earlobe and started quizzing him about what he felt like eating.

"Ugh. Not again," she leaned her head against the couch cushion. They'd been on her couch for the last two hours, since her mother had left for work. Thanks to modern technology, they'd been able to intersperse their make-out session with random moments of television programs, allowing a full range of teenage entertainment without having to stand up.

"Fine. Burgers?" he named the Gilmore family's other standby.

"But you're already here," she pointed out, as if he might have forgotten the fact that their bodies were melded together as well as sunken into the couch cushions. 

"So?" he wound his fingers around hers.

"So, who's going to bring the burgers?"

"Luke's delivers," Jess smirked. "Although probably not to us tonight."

Rory glared at him. "And that would be because?"

"I might have pissed him off."

"I deduced that; I was looking for the specifics."

"You don't want to know," he nodded wisely at her.

"Fine. Chinese?"

"Al's went Moroccan."

Rory groaned louder. "When?"

"I stopped in after my shift last night to get take out, and egg rolls were no longer an option."

"Shoot."

"Popcorn?" he offered.

"For dinner?" she did her best to look offended at the idea.

"Please. I once saw you eat Oreos and gummi worms for dinner."

She thought about this for a moment. "Where would you get popcorn delivered from?"

"I was thinking we'd go to the movies. That way you could have a five course meal—Milk Duds, popcorn, gummi worms, Mike and Ikes, and a hot dog."

"If we were going to the movies, then we could just hit JoJos."

"I told you; I am never going to JoJos again."

She gave him the pouty lip and what her mother called the Bambi eyes, but he didn't budge. She leaned in for a kiss, but he barely puckered against the pressure of her lips. She sighed and huffed back against the couch. "It wasn't that bad."

"We need more places to eat in this town."

"The Indian place delivers," she tried again.

"The fact that I hate that place is the only thing that your mother likes about me. How about Thai?"

"How is it that you like the girlie foods, where as I have the iron stomach?" she mocked him.

"It's called a bottomless pit," he brushed his hand up under her shirt and ran his fingers against her skin. In response, the organ being discussed grumbled and growled.

"I'm really hungry," she smiled sheepishly.

"I think we're back to pizza," he shook his head.

"We're in a horrible food rut."

"You know, in New York, you can be a complete shut-in and never eat from the same restaurant twice in a month's time. Everybody delivers."

"So?"

"I miss that."

She twisted a lock of hair around her finger, bringing it around to her mouth before dropping it against her shoulder. "Are you going to move back?"

He met her eyes hesitantly. "To New York?"

She nodded, her Bambi eyes now glued to him. "I mean, after you graduate, are you planning on staying in Stars Hollow?"

Her stomach growled again. "We should really get you food. You want me to call Sandeep's?"

"Aren't we ever going to talk about this?" she put her hand on his, holding his warm hand against her discontented stomach.

He sighed. "I've thought about it," he shrugged.

"And?"

"You applied to Harvard, Princeton, and Yale," he reminded her.

"Yes," she affirmed.

"Not Columbia or NYU," he gently pointed her in his direction of thought and waited for her to catch on.

"You," she frowned and squeezed his hand, "think about that stuff? About where I'll be and that you might go somewhere different because of where I am?"

He shrugged. "It's not like I have a plan. I've just been thinking. The occasional thought."

"It might not be too late for me to submit an application for Columbia. I could check the deadline," she offered.

He shook his head. "You are not going to follow me."

She frowned. "But… I thought," she blinked.

"Rory, you've wanted to go to Harvard since you were four. I haven't wanted to do anything since I was four," he impressed upon her. "There's no way I'd let you give up your dream just so I could be in New York working at minimum wage job while you go to a school you don't like."

She looked down at where their hands were joined. "You could go to school, too."

"Maybe," he frowned. "Eventually."

"Jess," she began, but her stomach growled again. "Fine, we can do pizza, but let's get something other than pepperoni this time."

He gave her a smirk and peeled his lean form off the couch. "Veggie special it is," he said as he lunged for the phone and out of the swinging length of her arms as she clamored behind him.


	6. Pride: Show Me Yours and I’ll Show You M

Story Title: The Seven Deadly Sins: A Series of Lit Vignettes

Chapter Six—Pride: Show Me Yours and I'll Show You Mine

Rating: T, for some possible language

Summary: A series of looks at moments we were robbed of in Season Three. A look at Rory and Jess being Rory and Jess.

"22.8 miles."

The words had flowed out of his mouth effortlessly, a fact that surprised him as much as it surprised her. As they continued to walk down the sidewalk on the warm spring day, his arm around her shoulders and her hair tickling the back of his neck as the wind blew lightly, he could see her expression change out of his peripheral view.

"How'd you know that?"

He rolled his eyes in an attempt to play it off like it was common knowledge as she craned her neck to gaze at him in a form of amazement that he'd not seen often on her face.

"Do you Yahoo?"

Now amazement turned to amusement as she began to visualize how he came to know this very specific statistic.

"You looked it up?"

He might as well admit defeat. In doing so, she could show mercy on him and drop the subject all together.

"Yeah."

Unfortunately, he'd had a lapse of judgment of monumental proportions if he ever thought for a moment that a Gilmore would miss an opportunity to mock without mercy.

"You looked it up."

Now he had no choice but defend himself until she dropped this. At least until they got back to the apartment, where he could silence her in a way that would be wholly indecent to attempt in public. Not only was it fun, but he prided himself on finding the one true way to render her completely speechless.

"I just hit a couple buttons on the computer."

He was going to have a lot of fun exacting his revenge. He had little choice in the matter, if he were going to keep his manhood in tact. Her mind was running rampant, imagining him sitting a computer, doing a search for how many miles would separate them at night. Planning best routes on how to get there, whether it be for a planned date or a surprising show-up, waking her up in the middle of the night to remind her that life wasn't all about studying. In her mind, it didn't stop there. She could see him Googling her. He had to put a stop to this right now, but they were three blocks from Luke's, and she showed no sign of losing the humor of the situation.

"You looked it up."

"I was bored. There was nothing on TV and I was fooling around, it was something to do, that's it."

Even he didn't think he sounded anything but pathetic as he continued to justify what he thought of as an innocuous fact that he happened to stumble upon. It was clear it should have remained a silent fact. She was much, much too happy about this simple action he'd taken.

"You looked it up."

But she was happy. Something so small had made her happier than he'd seen her in a while. Her arms wrapped around his torso, squeezing him tight for a beat, and he knew he'd lost, at least for the moment. He kissed her temple and wrapped his other arm around her chest, so they were caught in a mobile embrace. It wasn't a new prospect for them; often they ran the risk of getting run over because their bodies were torqued at odd angles and neither their eyes nor their minds were focused on what was going on around them as they walked through the town. His mind was always about ten minutes ahead, planning what would happen once they were alone. He liked to think that she suffered the same affliction; or at least that she was too caught up in their conversation or lack thereof to notice anything else but his proximity.

He opened the door to Luke's Diner with one hand, his other still snaked around her waist. He'd become a master at doing something necessary with one hand while keeping contact with her. With the looming threat of her leaving for college, he tried to ignore the idea that he was afraid to let go of her.

As he steered her for the stairs, she smiled and turned in to him, speaking just loud enough for only him to hear. "No coffee?"

He smiled. "We have some upstairs."

"Since when?"

He put on his most honest face and looked into her wide eyes. He could see that she neither believed him nor cared if he was lying. It struck him that she knew him—not just things about him, but she knew him in ways he'd never imagined. She put together facts and observations and not only tolerated him, but seemed to seek him out. It baffled him at times, but mostly he wished he felt he deserved the attention.

"Come on, little girl, I've got candy," he murmured in her ear, his breath tickling her skin. She giggled, and they clamored their way up the staircase where he let them into the office.

"Where's Luke?"

She had a tendency to ask now, because she knew what chain of events would unfold from the moment they found themselves alone. The idea of being walked in on by Luke was embarrassing, but not the worst part for her. The worst part would be Luke telling her mother. She could let herself go and enjoy the aspects of their growing relationship, but she was only comfortable with him seeing that side of her.

Not that he minded so much.

"He and Nicole were going to see a show in New York."

"Which one?"

"_Hairspray_."

"Shut up," she rolled her eyes at him as she walked over to the refrigerator.

"I'm serious," he took his wallet out of his jeans and laid it on his dresser before turning to face her. "Looking for coffee?"

"No, soda," she made very little noise as she extracted the aluminum can and shut the door. "Hey, Jess?"

"Yeah?" he sat with his back against his bed pillow, waiting for her to bring her refreshment with her as she joined him. Frankly, he was tired of the delay.

"Is there something you wanted to tell me?"

"The mental image of Luke sitting through _Hairspray_ wasn't enough?" he joked, craning forward to see the side profile of her body that was visible from his vantage point.

She appeared in full view a moment later; a soda in one hand and a certificate in the other.

"I'm gonna kill Luke," he muttered under his breath.

"You were chosen Employee of the Month?" she asked, her voice sounding as if she were asking a preschooler if he received a gold star for coloring inside the lines.

"Stop," he said, no hint of playfulness in his voice. There was no way he was going to discuss this. He planned on using the extra money that came with the so-called honor to put toward the prom she so desperately wanted to attend, but he certainly hadn't planned on crowing about the means from which he obtained the money.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not a big deal."

"The certificate calls it an achievement."

"All it means is that I can tell time and I'm not brain dead."

"Well, the brain dead usually aren't known for their time telling capabilities," she mused, still not seeing that this wasn't up for discussion. "I'm serious, why didn't you tell me?"

"Why would I?"

"You told Luke," she lowered her voice, probably to counter the way he'd raised his. He took in a breath, in an attempt to keep this as calm as possible. He didn't want to be mad at her. He just wanted her to join him and drop the whole subject.

"I didn't tell Luke. He got a letter in the mail addressed the family of Jess Mariano."

"Oh."

She seemed to consider this as she looked at the paper in her hands again. He figured that any certificate of achievement she'd received were something she would cherish, having come from a place of putting her all into a goal. He never felt he was working for any goal other than money or survival.

"It's nothing," he reiterated.

She put the soda down and bent slightly to replace the certificate gingerly back on the fridge. He was almost sure she was ready to move on as she walked over to him and swung a leg wide to land on his far hip. She straddled his hips and sat down in his lap, facing him.

"Well, I'm still proud of you."

He rolled his eyes and put his hands on her cheeks. He leaned in to kiss her, which she obliged to readily. But when he pulled back, she still had that look in her eyes. He sighed. "Seriously, it's a crappy piece of paper from Wal-Mart, not a Nobel Prize."

"It just has to be a little rare, for someone that only works a few hours a week to be chosen for Employee of the Month," she reasoned.

The instant she said it, he could feel the burn of the truth that he'd been withholding in his throat. "Yeah, I guess so."

She smiled triumphantly, thinking she'd made him see reason. All he saw was a girl that deserved a lot better than the likes of him. She ran a soothing hand down his left cheek, and he caught it in his palm and pressed her skin into his.

"What's wrong?" she asked softly.

"Nothing's wrong," he lied and kissed her again. "What about your achievement?" he murmured into her hairline.

"What achievement?" she frowned. "You mean Yale?"

"Harvard, Princeton, _and_ Yale," he corrected.

"It's not like I'm going to go to all three," she teased.

"The three best schools in the country, and they all want you to attend there for four years."

"Most students go for five now; our generation is very indecisive apparently."

"Rory."

"Jess," she mocked him.

"I'm just saying there is a major difference in the direction our lives are going."

This made her sad; she looked like he told her that her favorite puppy would have to be put down.

"You're doing this now?" she asked, her voice sounding small and distant.

"Doing what? Pointing out the obvious?"

"I can't believe you're breaking up with me now," she said, her sadness giving way to indignance.

"Breaking up with you?" he reached out for her waist to hold her stable against him as she tried to pull away from him, clearly ready to grab the nearest object to hurl at his head. At least, that's the way he'd seen most break ups go down in his life. And why he never broke up with anyone in person.

"You're so bent on the idea that because I'm going to an Ivy League school and you still think you're destined to a life without school that you aren't even willing to try?"

"Try what?" he shook his head, not quite understanding the turn the conversation had taken.

"Being together!" she exclaimed.

"We are together. I'm not breaking up with you."

He knew it was inevitable; he'd always known in the back of his mind that no matter how much he wanted to keep her, he didn't deserve her forever. He got her for now, and he wasn't ready for now to be over. He didn't tell her all this, because he was sure she felt it too—or else she wouldn't have jumped to the conclusion she had so easily.

"Oh," she settled back down on his lap and laid her head against his chest. He put his arms around her and held her for a moment, comforting both of them with the assurance that this was where they still wanted to be.

Nothing could change the trajectory that both of their lives had started on, and he wasn't sure he would try if he thought he could. She deserved everything she had coming her way; especially after the years she'd spent working for it all. The schooling, the job, the life that he would never be a part of, except for becoming a distant memory of her past.

But for now, he couldn't imagine her being anywhere but in his arms, squeezing her limbs around his torso so tightly that he couldn't take a deep breath. But as long as he could bury his face into her vanilla-scented hair or take her lips with his, he didn't care if he stopped breathing all together. For now, she was his, and he'd accept whatever that meant for his future.


	7. Gluttony: The Desire for More and More

Story Title: The Seven Deadly Sins: A Series of Lit Vignettes

Chapter Seven—Gluttony: The Desire for More and More

Rating: T, for some possible language

Summary: A series of looks at moments we were robbed of in Season Three. A look at Rory and Jess being Rory and Jess.

Rory Gilmore wasn't completely naïve. She knew exactly how far she could push her boyfriend before he would start to lose the very loose grasp he had on the control over his body when they were close like this. He wanted more, she wanted more—the only difference was that he knew exactly what would happen if too much happened, and she was scared to death of this great unknown. What was frustrating her the most was that she had no leeway past his point of no return—no room for experimentation, to find out what would happen if she just touched him here, or applied more pressure there. Doing any of these things made her a tease, not curious about her sexuality. So they both got used to being frustrated over the past couple of months.

But tonight, she wanted more, and she wanted him to just understand that more didn't necessarily have to mean everything.

His head was buried in her neck, his lips making parts of her burn that shouldn't have any connection to her neck. She arched underneath him, doing her best under the weight of his body to snake her hands free so she could do more than stroke his abs. If her hands roamed where they were itching to go, if she touched the skin that she was so curious to feel out the sensation under the pressure of her fingers, then all hell would break loose.

"Jess," she breathed headily, her body humming so loud from the way his lips were coaxing her that she was sure it was audible to his ears as well.

He let out his usual sigh of disgruntled frustration, sure that their make-out session had come to a premature end, yet again. She put her hand on his chest and dug her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, pulling to keep him close. When he couldn't pull away so easily, he looked into her eyes. She could see the struggle of what he wanted and trying to give her what he thought she wanted warring in the depths of his chocolate brown eyes.

"Tell me something."

He cocked his head one side, wondering now where this detour might take them. It was certainly more promising than her telling him that she just wasn't ready and him walking her home before her appointed curfew again. "What do you want to know?"

She paused, so many things filling her very inquisitive mind. There were a vast many things that she lived in ignorance of when it came to him. She wasn't sure if she didn't ask because she was afraid to know or if she was more afraid that he wouldn't share the answers with her. At some point, wanting to know more than he was willing to share consumed her more than his desire to have sex drove him.

"Just something I don't know. Something personal, about yourself. Something you've never told anyone."

He raised one eyebrow. "Why?"

She didn't quite have an answer for that response. "Uh, I don't know, because we're dating."

"You want know my shoe size because we're dating?"

She rolled her eyes. "I don't want to know your shoe size."

"You said anything, something I've never told anyone."

She frowned. "You've never told anyone your shoe size?"

"Why would I?"

"Okay, this is taking a turn I didn't intend."

"What did you intend? To distract me and confuse me until I forgot we were making out?"

She put a hand on his chest. "I like the making out, but shouldn't we talk more?"

He groaned and attempted to reach past her and grab the book that was lying open with the bent spine facing up on his nightstand. She smacked his hand away, causing him to look at her in surprise.

"Jess, I'm serious."

"We talk all the time."

"Yes, that's true, but it's always about books," she pointed to the escape he was trying to make into the literary world.

"It is not. You often ramble on about your personal life."

"So, you have no desire to know anything about my personal life at all? You never wonder what it is I'm not telling you?"

This seemed to make him think. "Such as?"

"Ah-ah-ah," she wagged a finger in his face. "Fair is fair. I asked you first."

"Unless you have something really juicy, like you're a double agent for the CIA, I'm not sure this will truly be tit for tat."

"What if I used to be a boy?" she teased.

He shuddered. "Seriously, what's in it for me?"

She opened her mouth a little in a blatant pout. "Knowing your girlfriend a little better isn't enough?"

"Let's just say that if I tell you my deep, dark secrets and you tell me that your mother likes Pop Rocks," he sighed.

"So, you do have deep, dark secrets?" she inquired.

"Rory," he warned.

She lowered her gaze a bit. "Fine. It's just when we're doing this," she leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips, "it makes my mind wander. But every time it wanders, I wonder if we're really ready for anything more, if we really know each other well enough."

His eyes were nearly black now as he soaked in her words. "I got my first library card illegally."

His voice was deep and his expression sheepish. It took her a moment to realize that he was complying with her wishes. It didn't feel like the kind of appeasement that some boys used to get into a girl's pants. He wasn't telling her he loved her because it was what he thought she wanted to hear. He was actively reaching out, letting her into his world so that she felt comfortable while she was in it.

"What?"

His lips curled up into a half smile. "I was four, and my mom was dating this guy, Jack. Most of the guys she dated were complete losers, but Jack had built a bookcase out of cement blocks and plywood that covered one entire wall in his apartment. We had moved in with him because Liz had lost her crappy job and had just gotten another crappy job that had her working a ton of hours. He was basically my full-time babysitter, and he'd read to me out of his books—mostly classics, Dickens, Tolstoy, stuff like that. One day he said I needed age appropriate books and took me down to the local branch of the library. They said a legal guardian or parent had to accompany a child to get their own card, so he lied and said he was my father so I could get one."

"What ever happened to him?"

Jess shrugged. "Mom broke up with him about two weeks later. Started dating some guy, I'm pretty sure he was her pot dealer. She'd started dating Jack on one of her 'I'm cleaning my life up and this time it's really different' kicks, they never lasted that long. It's the only time I ever heard anyone ever claim to be my dad," he admitted.

"Jess, that's," she searched for words, but he shook his head.

"Your turn. And it better be good," he warned.

"Okay," she drawled out the word, unsure as to what she could tell him that could be as revealing or meaningful as what he'd shared. It seemed to blatant to tell him that more and more she wanted to have sex. So, she went for the next best thing. "I'm wearing black underwear."

The look on his face could only be described as comical. He'd been expecting something on a much more heartfelt level, so she took advantage of his being thrown to lean back into him and kiss him with more fervor than she allowed herself to take with him. She kissed him the way she always longed to, without being afraid of pushing him past his boundaries or being careful of going too far. She was still shocked at his rigorous reaction, his hands pulling her harder and faster against his body, his mouth opening wider and stealing her breath in an instant. She didn't have to work to let herself get carried away, and they both allowed themselves to consume more than their fair share of one another, until in their heated exchange he bumped the nightstand with his elbow as he shifted back up her body from having taken a vacation from her lips to places much farther south and knocked his book to the floor, the noise of it hitting the ground snapping them back to wonder just exactly what their new reality entailed.

"You want me to stop?" he asked, his breath coming harder than usual. She was not so secretly glad that she was having this effect on him, because her body was completely attuned to his, at a near standstill in wait as to what he might do next. If there was one thing she knew about him that he didn't need to tell her, it was that he was experienced when it came to all the things she was nervous about when it came to sex. Maybe that's why she trusted him to show her the ropes, but it definitely was the reason it scared her to death to be okay with him showing her the ropes.

She shook her head.

He blinked. "You're sure?"

She put a hand on his cheek and kissed him. "Not sex," she said, "I mean, not everything right now, but what you were doing just now, yes, keep going."

He kissed her again, and she could taste the relief on his lips. "Okay."

And then he went back to where her hunger lay, to reveal her secret for his own eyes and giving her more than her fill of her curiosity and whetting his own appetite for more of what was to come.


	8. Lust, Part Two: Don't Stop 'Til You Get

Lust—Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough

AN: Again, this chapter especially earns that good ol' M rating. It's not hard-core, but it is suggestive. Continue on to Lit goodness.

Iron Chef America was blaring on the television, even though she couldn't remember turning to the Food Network. They'd been on the couch for a while now, and with his lips on her neck, it was hard to remember finer details. She closed her eyes when his warm hand shifted from the safety of her rib cage underneath her shirt to cup her over her bra.

"Mmm, Jess," she snuggled down under his weight, not realizing the full impact of her hips sliding against his until he groaned back.

She would never admit it to him, but she found it incredibly arousing—the sheer power of making him moan. Him, of all people. She had really only seen one girl that he'd been with, and while Rory felt no competition in the brains department with the bottled-blonde, she worried about the difference in book smarts and practical experience that she lacked.

He also apparently took her gyration as appreciation and slid the fabric out of his way to make skin-to-skin contact between her nipple and his fingers.

"Hmmm," her eyes fluttered shut again as her thoughts tied themselves into knots. Now his mouth was hot on her collarbone, nipping and licking. She was about to lose her mind, and all she could do was lie there and writhe. After he kissed her chest over her shirt, he took his teeth and replaced his handiwork. He flipped her tank up over her breasts so that he could better see what he was doing. His hand gently slipped her bra strap down her arm, and he smiled at her.

Her eyes were black, her breath was hard. It was impossible that one person could completely unhinge another in this way, but lately whenever he was around, she'd felt nearly helpless to prevent scenes like this. At first she thought his black eye might be the end of their relationship, but even though she didn't buy the football story, she had to admit the fading bruise was kind of sexy. It worked for him in the same way the smartass, sarcastic rebel from New York attitude worked for him. She wanted to take care of him, to change him, and to undress him. At the moment, however, she was more than happy to help him undress her.

His hand had snaked around her back and unlatched her clasp at some point, and her bra was now being tucked down into the couch cushion in case of emergency. It wouldn't be the first time they might have to bolt upright and pretend that they weren't nearly blind with lust and newly clothed before an adult walked in on them. They took more and more chances of late, allowing themselves more liberties in smaller windows of time. Tonight was a little different; they knew he should be gone before her mother got home from the midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. She also knew that when she'd imagined her first time—and she'd been imagining it a lot lately—it had never happened on her couch.

"Jess," she breathed, unable to peel her eyes away from the way his mouth moved against her bare chest.

His response was to rock his hips down into hers, allowing her to feel just how much this interlude was exciting him. She knew there was a point of no return, and they were quickly approaching it tonight, even though this was nothing they hadn't done a thousand times. She was just getting more frustrated with greater ease each time they were alone. It wasn't crystal clear in her mind, what glorious act might push her over the edge, but she was fairly sure it was in his arsenal. She just didn't want it to occur on the most uncomfortable couch ever to be manufactured.

"Jess, wait."

"Shh," he soothed, now using his tongue in a sweeping motion, around and around, making her dizzy even though the only movement was that of her hips starting to rock against his. She wasn't sure when her body had begun to respond involuntarily to his, but it seemed impossible to slow it to a stop.

Rory reached out and snaked her fingers into the belt loops of his jeans, meaning to try to steady his hips, but found that she was instead digging her fingers into his flesh. His skin just above his waistband was warm and soft, stretched tautly over his toned muscles. He must have good genes, because she knew all his precious time not spent working or forced in school (and probably some of that time as well) was spent reading. Of course, now more and more of his time was spent working her up into a mass of hormones and raw nerves. Not that she was complaining.

"Jess, wait," she said when she finally found her voice again. Her fingers were itching to reach around and unbutton his jeans, but she feared that might send her on a crash course for losing her virginity on this couch that very night. Instead her fingers cramped around the denim and began to bruise his flesh wherever she made contact.

"Rory, come on," he said, his voice husky and filled with want. She wanted him too, and if his mouth could leave her skin for one moment, she might get her concentration back just long enough to tell him that.

"No, Jess," she urged, and he lifted his mouth from her body without looking in her eyes. He grunted as he started to attempt to disentangle his body from hers, clearly beyond frustrated.

"No, Jess, wait," she was able to be much more forceful with her tone now, as he was finally doing something she didn't approve of—trying to leave her.

She grabbed hold of his pants quickly and jerked him back down on top of her. He looked up, pissed and confused.

"Rory, I need to get up."

"No, I don't want you to."

He shook his head, indignant. "Look, I get it, you're not ready, but you can't expect me to go from that to a full stop in a half a second. I need time, okay?"

"I don't want you to stop," she frowned, wanting him to just understand her. "I just don't want it to happen here."

He frowned as well. "Wait, what?"

She averted her gaze, now flushing with embarrassment rather than increased blood flow. "It's just kind of a big deal. Maybe not for you, but for me. People are preparing food on television and I don't even know if this couch has ever really been cleaned thoroughly, and my underwear doesn't match my bra, and," she began to ramble, trying now to make him understand, even though she was fairly sure her words were not making anything more clear than her silence had.

He smiled. He didn't smirk, which she was used to. "Huh."

She poked at his chest. "More words, please."

"I just," he drew his hand down his face, as if he were trying to relax his facial muscles out of the smile. It didn't work. "It's not that that stuff doesn't matter to me. Where we are or how sterile the surface is," he tried to sound serious, even though she got a serious hunch he was mocking her, "I guess I just care more that I'm with you."

Her face softened, but she punched him in the arm. "I hate it when you do that."

He rubbed his shoulder at the point of impact. "Geez, do what?"

"You act all sweet and make fun of me and make me feel unjustified and adored, all at the same time. I hate that."

He smirked now. "I know."

A moment passed and they just looked into one another's eyes. She finally narrowed her eyes. "What are you thinking now?"

He playfully dipped his finger into her waistband. "If your panties really don't match your bra."

"How romantic," she groused.

"Hey, you brought it up," he defended himself. "Seriously, none of that stuff matters to me. But I guess you're right. If it really matters to you, then we should do it right."

She raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean exactly?"

He laughed. "I don't mean you might do it wrong. We can go somewhere that isn't your living room or Luke's apartment and you can wow me with matching underwear. I mean, if that's what you really want."

"I should have never mentioned the underwear."

He just smiled. "You know what I mean."

Her heart rate increased to a dangerous speed. "So."

He leaned in and kissed her softly. "So."

"Where would we go?" she whispered, almost afraid to have the conversation aloud.

He searched her eyes. "Are we really discussing this?"

She nodded. When she didn't say anything else, he took in a breath. "I could get a place."

"Like a hotel or something?" she asked, feeling completely foreign to the idea.

He nodded. "Yeah. I have enough money saved up, then we'd just have to account for our time."

She bit her lip. Telling Lorelai loomed. But that was her issue, not his. "I can manage that."

He looked at her intently. "This is weird."

She furrowed her brow. "Oh. Sorry."

He shook his head. "No, it's just… I've never really gone about it like this. It's always just… happened."

She blushed. "That's bad, right?"

"No," he brushed his fingertips over her cheek and lingered over her lips. "No, Rory, it's not bad. But it'll help me if you realize that you can't plan everything."

She nodded. "It's not like I need to pick a day or anything."

His eyes were locked on hers. "But soon?"

"Yeah. Maybe soon."

"Maybe."

"Jess, I'm trying. I know I want this, or at least I know it as much as anyone can know these things. When I'm with you, like this, it's getting so much harder," she paused and sighed. "I'm probably not making any sense."

"Oh, no, you are," he assured her. She didn't have the words to tell him that she felt like they'd spent all this time, long afternoons and the minutes that pushed toward the unspoken curfew her mother would never announce but would never hesitate to start a phone chain if she weren't in her bed by, learning each other's bodies and reactions and stopped short of letting each other all the way in. She wasn't banking on sex knocking down what was left that separated them. It was a visceral yearning at this point.

"Thank you. For understanding."

He kissed her. It was as good a response as she could imagine. It also catapulted her nervous system right back into the red zone.

He pulled back slightly. "Do you want me to go?"

"Not unless you want to go."

He tapped his chin lightly and his eyes lit up with playfulness. She loved this side of him. A smile spread across her face, a laugh lilting her voice. "What?"

"I was just thinking that after all this, I think I've earned the right to see the panties in question."

"You are relentless."

He paused a moment before he spoke softly but certainly in her ear. "Trust me, there will come a time when you won't see that as a bad thing."

The part of her that only came alive when he was staring at her like she was the sexiest woman on the planet and touching her in what can only be considered a carnal way allowed her to make her last comment of the evening. "I might need a little convincing of that."

With that, he smiled and offered up a preview performance that left her with as little doubt as she'd ever had that even if she wasn't safe in his hands, she was willing to risk everything to hand herself over to him when the time was right.


	9. Envy: Purple is the New Green

ENVY: Purple's the New Green

AN: This story hasn't been linear; it's supposed to be random snippets from any point of Season 3. Most of these have been after They Shoot Gilmores, Don't They? But this one is before that, we take a look back before they got together to tackle the last sin, Envy. (it's set just after One's Got Class, And The Other One Dyes, just FYI)

It was supposed to be his night off, but things of late had not been going as he planned—as if Jess knew what the hell he was doing. It felt foreboding somehow, the universe giving him tiny signs that were too big to ignore, but too small to make him change in any real way. His uncle Luke had discovered, with the help of a woman who would sooner smack him than offer a helping hand, that the girl he had been making out with until they were interrupted suddenly had jumped into Luke's closet to hide. The reason this girl, Shane, hadn't chosen Jess' closet would probably never exist, outside her lack of general awareness, but he wasn't with her for her mind. After that incident, he'd been subjected to a verbal sparring match during which his uncle had pressed him on the fact that he shouldn't be with someone who wasn't special to him in some way. It had ended badly, as did most of their conversations, and it had been made worse by the fact that the moment he met back up with Shane, after her shift was over, they'd run into Rory and her friend Lane on the street, Shane muttering something about one of them being a freak as they all crossed paths.

It was against his normal protocol to engage Shane in conversation, and yet he found he just had to know what had provoked the comment. He asked which girl she had the problem with, and the whole story of her distreatment (her 'word') at the hands of the girl she described as Rory (though she didn't know her by name) and their verbal exchange while she'd been trying to get him to be nice to her on the phone earlier during her otherwise boring shift at the beauty supply (which perhaps he could bring himself to do if she'd stop making up words like bloaty). Shane had crossed her arms in the huffy manner she had and told him to leave the moment he backed Rory's defense, telling him that her head hurt from all the grammar lessons.

So with an eye roll and a muttered 'whatever', he headed back to the diner, cursing the lack of options in this town. Most girls here looked at him with wary interest at best, Shane being the only girl that approached him other than Rory. The way Rory looked at him—that's what got under his skin. He never knew if she was going to be unjustifiably nice or exaggeratedly irritated toward him, but either way it didn't matter. He would still try, still get in the ring and do his damnedest to make her forget that provincial boyfriend of hers and make her wish Shane would disappear from his life—though, honestly, she probably had no idea how easily the latter could be achieved. Poof, he could think, and Shane would be gone. More and more he was thinking that would be a good idea anyhow, if Rory showed no further signs of wear after their subsequent encounters. But at the moment, it was the only card he held to be sure to catch Rory's attention, to make sure she had to witness the repercussions of her actions.

He opened the door to the diner and earned a hearty sigh of disgust from his uncle—nothing like coming home to loving family. He made for the stairs, but Luke's hand, bearing a coffee pot, reached out and blocked his escape. "Make yourself useful," he grunted before heading off to the kitchen.

And so Jess found himself, refilling coffee cups for people who didn't need refills this late at night, ringing up the occasional customer and watching as tables grew emptier with no one coming behind to fill them. He was looking over receipts a half hour before closing when the door opened and she walked in alone. Luke popped his head out to see who had come in, but seemed to take one look at Rory, another glance at Jess, and disappeared back into the kitchen. Jess put his pen down on the finished receipts and picked up the regular coffee carafe from the machine on his way to the stool she had chosen, far at the other end from where he'd been standing behind the cash register—clearly a sign of her already formed displeasure. But she hadn't immediately turned in the doorway when she saw him, so he took that as an invitation for service, if not a conversation that he'd enjoy, no matter how frustrated it made him later.

"Lots of open tables," he said as he filled up her cup without asking if she wanted any.

She shrugged. "It's just me tonight."

"Where's Lorelai?" he asked, doing his best to make conversation. She raised an eyebrow at him, clearly not believing he cared. But he'd asked, so the polite core she'd developed implored her to answer.

"She had a long day. She retired early after she unplugged the phone. Lots of angry parents calling our house tonight. That's why I had to get out. Well, that and all we had in the house were Lucky Charms, and I've had that the last four meals, not including school lunches, so I just thought," she stopped, her words forming a giant rambling string, though at least he could always count on her to make sense when words came spilling out of her. The most she ever did was share more details than she really wanted him to know, but he never complained.

"At least they're magically delicious," he prodded her, hoping for a hint of a smile. Instead her eyebrows scrunched together and rose slightly. He sighed. "Want a burger?"

She nodded. "If the kitchen's still open."

"I'm pretty sure Luke would garrote me if I refused to feed you," he said as if it weren't his idea to take care of her. "It'd cut way back on his profit margins," he said, scribbling the order for a burger and fries and placing it on the pass-through, knowing Luke would have it done in a matter of minutes.

"Lane dyed her hair today," she said as a way to fill the void of the otherwise empty diner and do her best to sidestep the fact that there was so much she was wary to discuss with him, despite the fact that those topics hung in the air around them like humidity. "Or, I guess I should say I dyed Lane's hair today."

"Huh."

"Purple," she said, pulling a picture from her back pocket and showing him. He leaned over the counter a little to see the Polaroid she had produced.

"That is indeed purple," he noted as she took it back and replaced it in her pocket.

"We had to dye it back to black. But she looked like that for a whole half hour before her mom came home."

"Is that what girls do, dye their hair unnatural colors and back to normal while discussing…, what? Dreamy boyfriends and ditzy store clerks?"

Yeah, he'd gone there. He'd never been one to dance around issues for too long, no matter the fact they could have possibly had a pleasant conversation if he just didn't push. He wanted to push her, a little, he wanted to get her mad; get her feeling any emotion strongly enough to obtain a reaction out of her. It got his blood pumping, fighting with her, as well as the thought that that kind of heat could so easily transform into passion.

"Don't do that. Don't make me feel sorry for that insipid girl," she warned, her eyes narrowing at him. "If you don't like her, why are you with her?"

He shrugged. "Who says I'm with her?"

"Fine, if you're not with her, you're all over her," Rory spouted back, her ire already up. The very thought of him with Shane seemed to have that effect on her, which was the whole point of his even bothering with Shane. He and Rory hadn't had a conversation since her return from Washington D.C. that hadn't gotten her panties in a twist; he'd made sure of that.

"So? What's it to you? Unless you're jealous," he did his best to sound nonchalant, as though he could care less if she was envious. Truth be told there was no reason Rory should ever envy Shane, in any way, not from where he stood. Unless it were truly the case that she longed for him to touch her the way he touched Shane, and at this point he wasn't going to make it that easy for her. She'd have to admit it, her envy and her desire that for whatever reason she felt she needed to keep hidden. He liked this girl, in ways he wasn't even ready to admit yet, but he was not going to let the fact that she kissed him and then took off slide that easily. He needed her to dig a little deeper than deriding a girl that was clearly her inferior all the while going back to her hackneyed boyfriend every evening, pretending she'd never let herself slip.

"Why would I ever be jealous of her? Have you ever heard her speak? Or is that why you keep your tongue jammed down her throat, so you won't have to?"

Point, Rory. However, as a means of silencing Shane, it had been as effective as he could imagine. Unfortunately all that kissing had led the blonde to feel like they needed to talk in order for her to feel less like an object, which was generally when he ended their rendezvous, saying he had to get to work.

"Need me to give your boyfriend some tips?" he shot back fairly quickly, fast enough to make her think he wasn't wounded by her spot-on accusations.

She flushed a deep shade of pink, her words lost for a moment. "Dean is a great kisser."

He nodded, his jaw tightening. "Really? So, how did I compare? Or are we still not talking about that kiss?"

She shook her head, flustered. "Stop it."

"No, really, come on. I'm curious."

"Jess," she breathed. "Why are you doing this? What do you want, an apology?"

"For kissing me? Or for taking off and pretending it never happened?" he pressed, his wounds still a little too fresh to ease the sharpness of his tone.

"We've talked about this," she led, probably in hopes he would end the line of conversation. He had no idea what he could possibly segue into, as he literally did not have a thought in his mind outside of the feel of her lips against his for that one moment last spring. He was pretty sure the only way to get it out of his mind was to replicate the action, with or without their current set of complications. The worst part was she was doing all this to avoid hurting Dean, but she didn't seem to care that she was hurting him in the process. She expected him to understand. He didn't want to understand. He just wanted her.

"No, we've argued about this," he pointed out. "We've avoided this. We've done pretty much everything but talk about this," he continued.

"What do you want me to say, Jess? That I missed you? That I'm sorry it happened? Because I'm not. I know I should be, and I know that what I did was crappy, but it happened and now you're with Shane, and I'm still with Dean, and it doesn't change anything. Does it?" she erupted for a moment, her feelings spilling out of her in a wave, her eyes now expectant and wide and ready to consume him whole if he allowed.

He steeled himself. He was not going to be the one to break first, even if he did just want to kiss her; not to shut her up, but because he could literally feel every fiber of his being pulled in her direction. He never knew how badly his body could betray him until he met this girl.

"I guess not. I mean, you're still with Dean, so," he glanced away from her, for just a second, to regain his composure. When he met her eyes again, something had changed. A wall had slipped back into place between them.

"Yeah. I am. So," she bit her lip. He wondered if she was plagued by the memory of that kiss as well. Something told him she had at least thought about it, allowing the indulgence when things were quiet, replaying the scene in her head. But if she wasn't willing to admit that that kiss had changed things, it had changed everything in fact, then she wasn't going to admit to thinking about him.

He noticed the plate of food had been placed on the pass-through during their heated exchange. He grabbed it and slid it in front of her. "Enjoy your dinner," he said, noting that she didn't even pick at her food, an oddity for her, and even stranger for someone who had been sustained solely on a kid's cereal comprised primarily of marshmallows for three days.

"What?" he asked when she failed to move, let alone eat.

"Nothing. I should probably go. Let you have your evening. I'm sure sitting around here in an empty diner with me wasn't what you had in mind."

"If that's what you want," he said, not making direct eye contact with her. He wasn't going to go chasing after Shane tonight, pretending to be sorry for pissing her off, because he wasn't sorry. She'd come sniffing around the next day, having justified his behavior in some way that allowed her to seek him out again. It was Rory that had the strength of character to inflict pain on him by avoiding him. And when she couldn't avoid him, she'd torture him in other ways. He'd no doubt have to watch an exchange between her and Dean the next morning over breakfast, them talking about nothing for too long before he would lean down and kiss her goodbye. Her eyes would invariably dart to Jess, to see if he was watching, and she'd quickly peck Dean back before running off to catch her bus. It was a scene that had been replayed over and over in front of Jess, a vision of what he believed was his own personal hell. Did he really deserve this, had his sins been that bad? He didn't know. But he knew one thing for certain. His punishment was effective, but only in spurring his pursuit to get her to crack. He just hoped he could outlast her, even by just a millisecond.

"Dean's waiting for me anyhow," she admitted. "I should go."

"Wouldn't want him to think you were avoiding him," he said, his voice tight and his gaze fixed back on her. "I'd hate to ruin that happy little delusion you two are living in."

"You just can't stand for anyone else to be happy," she said, standing up now. She was going to leave her food untouched and him unsatisfied. At least, that was her intent.

"Run away to your boyfriend," he shook his head bitterly. "It's what you do best, isn't it?"

She looked at him with pain and something else—something baser, something that maybe even she didn't truly understand. As if she'd trusted him and he'd breached it somehow; she wasn't sure if she could count on him to protect her. How could he protect her when she was doing her damnedest to protect herself from him?

"I have to," she said finally, standing in the middle of the diner, with the most unreadable of expressions on her beautiful face.

"Then go," he said hollowly, still standing behind the counter, pretty sure that the physical barrier was the only thing keeping him from going to her, from touching her. He had no idea what would happen if he kissed her again, but he was afraid she was too fragile for that somehow. Maybe if he could have just convinced himself that she'd only kissed him that day because she was simply glad to see him again; but the moment her lips met his, he'd known better. He'd felt the release of tension, the build of energy, the raw hunger she'd poured out into that kiss. It was like everything he'd been feeling for her, mirrored back in a single act—too good to be true. But then he'd watched her run away, back to her boyfriend, just like she was doing now.

He watched her nod silently, accepting her fate for the time being, before turning and opening the door to the diner, stepping out into the night. He was left staring after her retreating form for a moment before attempting to shake it off, going back to finishing the receipts, turning the lights off, and going from table to table to flip all the chairs up.

He was doing just that when his uncle came out from the kitchen, dish towel over his shoulder, and cleared his throat. "Everything okay out here?"

"There's just one plate left to bus. I'm going to bed," he said as he walked past his uncle and her untouched food, without looking at either, heading for the stairs. He wouldn't set his alarm for tomorrow; one more tardy wouldn't matter to his already tarnished record, and it would keep him from having to witness Dean basking her in presence for one day at least. He allowed himself the satisfaction that she might still look for him, whether he was there or not, though it didn't make her anymore his. It was like the picture of Lane's hair she'd showed him. She'd gone back to the safe option, but there was still evidence that for a brief while, she'd embraced something more dangerous, something she knew she couldn't keep, no matter how much she might want it. If only his dreams were less vivid than a Polaroid picture.


End file.
